Текст песни Ноу Мо Копюшон - Мне Без Разницы

Completed downloads, Mr. No Mo on disk.
Now everyone has turned into bloggers, * butchy lists.
And I still keep my notebook and pen in the cage.
The sky dictated something to me, I put all the lines.

I stopped trusting everyone who is a mixer in the sketes.
Money, slut, drug * that spinning through the leaves.
I called them, but there they are silent, after - movement, plans.
I was told to go on older, to see how it should be.

Throws snow from under the wheels, people move along the street.
We have lived here for hundreds of years, but nothing has changed.
My parents are thousands of kilometers away from snow;
And my heart somewhere with them lives among the blizzard.

I have always believed that numbers are axioms,
Created for other students, and for me to hang on posters.
Director-chiefs, sad Mondays.
And those who reject the world, you will be called loafers.

There is only faith in oneself, in heaven, in God.
Mom, you look into my eyes, how can the doctor help there?
I see Steffan walking by under my window.
As in 2008, I'm getting to know rap again.

I was absent here for half a year, I do not regret anything,
But if I had stayed there it would have been harder.
I saw records of people, they say - listen and open up.
And I wanted to inform you that you need to live and fight.

But I will remain here myself, sad Know Mo on the player;
And flyers are not needed to get to my concert.
I am outside myself, outside you, in bad weather.
Today - you write, you create; tomorrow you will get an eraser.

Here everyone wants to catch you by the hand, poke you with text.
But there is not enough room in the ice vessels of the heart.
Until I get home, I refuse to blow five times.
Past balconies and corners to think about the meaning of life.

Here is someone's graffiti, like a mental tremor.
Welcome to our world where birds shit on marble.
There is no problem to add to us - you try to take them away.
If you have lived in my country, there is always something to celebrate.

It's so cold outside, in white "airs" it's right.
Where are you now - Engels, Sonya Krivaya?
This is some kind of season, one of the "Abandoned" series.
Mr. No Mo writes the album without letting go of the past.

In my StoryTelling windows, you better not see.
The light is falling, the baby is not sleeping, he is watching an old video.
There, on the record, what is now is the past.
I seem to myself good on the record.

There, on the record, what is now is the past.
And on the record I look good to myself.
He breaks my soul on the record.
I don't care who will listen to it.

There, on the record, what is now is the past.
And on the record I look good to myself.
He breaks my soul on the record.
I don't care who will listen to it.

Who is it...
Who will listen to it.
Who will it be ...
Who will it be ...